Author: kaly
Category: Gen
Rating: K+
Spoilers: Pilot (minor), IMToD and ELaC (major)
Summary: Through the years, the more things change, the more some things - like brothers - stay the same.
Notes: I'm trying something different - a theme-connected set of six drabbles that form a (hopefully) cohesive whole arc.
Disclaimer: Not mine. The pretty, snarky, angsty brothers belong to Kripke & the CW.
A Sense of Time
1983
The first time Dean saw Sam, he wasn't impressed. His mom and dad talked on and on about "the new baby" this and that. But Sam couldn't talk or play; all he did was cry and sleep. Sam was no fun, not at all what Dean had in mind when he asked Santa for a brother.
The second time Dean saw Sam; he grabbed Dean's hand in his tiny fist and smiled. And Dean knew it was a smile, no matter what they said. Suddenly he couldn't help thinking there might be something to this big brother thing after all.
1992
Their dad being on a hunt always meant the same things.
Dean's in charge.
Come straight home from school.
Do your homework, and that includes your sparring.
Dean, cook. Sam, eat what Dean cooks. Food isn't free.
The last one was the problem. The days of getting the last of the cereal were gone and while Dean was the best at almost everything, he could burn water without even trying.
Inevitably, dinnertime came and with it a steaming plate of something that was once food. Sam forced a smile and soldiered on, trying not to cringe at the charred flavor.
1999
It still surprised him sometimes, the competent hand with which Sam wielded weapon and suture alike. Sam's steady, reassuring touch bandaging his back always calmed the post-hunt adrenaline.
Sam's tongue was just peeking through his teeth in concentration, a silly habit Dean had picked on him for in the past, but the shaken look in Sam's eyes kept him quiet. Although Dean preferred to be the one hurt, he'd rather die than let it be Sam, Dean knew that being the one left to pick up the pieces hurt like hell, too.
"Thanks," he whispered, relieved when Sam's eyes lightened.
2005
When he'd first returned to the hunt, everything had felt off. It was as though he was standing just off of center and couldn't quite find his balance. Slowly waking, once more riding shotgun in the Impala, Sam smiled before really thinking about it as a feeling of home washed over him.
And suddenly Sam realized that while it might feel different, it still smelled the same. Gunpowder and gasoline and something he couldn't quite place that was just Dean somehow. Something that meant home and safety, and always had, no matter where they were or what demons they fought.
2006
They had been at Bobby's for almost a week when something roused Dean out of a restless sleep. Rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes, Dean pushed up on his elbow, trying to figure out what had woken him.
He turned to find Sam tangled in the sheets of his too-short bed, murmuring "dad" and "no" over and over. Dean reached out, spanning the distance that pain had wrought, to rest on Sam's arm.
"It'll be okay, Sammy."
It was the first time he'd spoken since the pyre and Sam quieted. Dean just hoped it was the truth.
2008
Most of the time Sam still thought of his visions as more curse than blessing. For every person his spidey-sense saved, there were others it didn't. But for the pain that so often accompanied the visions, however brief they were, one thing above all others made them worth it.
Dean glared upward at him from where he was sprawled on the dirt, before seeing the knife that just missed skewering him. He paled, though you could barely tell, before looking at Sam with thanks in his eyes.
Sam nodded before returning to the hunt. Yeah, sometimes it was worth it.
end